


Paraplegic

by HumanError



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depressed John, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sherlock, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injured John, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Major Character Injury, Marriage, Romance, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Weddings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-31
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3114449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumanError/pseuds/HumanError
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn't supposed to happen. Something like that isn't supposed to happen to anyone, but it did. It was an accident but the amount of hatred I feel towards the person who caused this incident is overwhelming. I want to hurt them. Make them feel guilty for it. Let them know exactly how horrendous this incident is. Inflict the same agonising torture on them as what they've caused to us.</p><p>But I can't. John doesn't want me to and the rational part of my mind is telling me that no good would have come of it. They're not a criminal who is specifically going out of their way to harm someone. They are just people who happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters are not my own. The medical information is most likely not entirely accurate as I am not a doctor. I am a sixteen year old girl. I hope you enjoy this! Read the tags before proceeding.

It wasn't supposed to happen. Something like that isn't supposed to happen to anyone, but it did. It was an accident but the amount of hatred I feel towards the person who caused this incident is overwhelming. I want to hurt them. Make them feel guilty for it. Let them know exactly how horrendous this incident is. Inflict the same agonising torture on them as what they've caused to us.

But I can't. John doesn't want me to and the rational part of my mind is telling me that no good would have come of it. They're not a criminal who is specifically going out of their way to harm someone. They are just people who happened to be at the wrong place, at the wrong time.

John and I were coming back to Baker Street after a particularly stressful case. John was tired, I was tired (a rare occurrence, I must say, although one that has been happening far too much recently) and Lestrade was tired too. However, he did offer us a ride back in the police car which John accepted gratefully. John was just about to shut the passenger door once we reached the flat when he looked over to me, saying that he needed to pop to the shops to get some tea bags. I had been nagging him for the past two days to get some.

I heard the screeching of tyres before I actually witnessed what was happening. I snapped my head up and first saw John, frozen to the spot in the centre of the road. Before I could even turn my head, or shout to him to  _get out of the bloody way,_ the car had smashed into him and sent him flying up and over it. I could see him in the air and it felt like a century before he touched the ground but he did, eventually. He finally collided with the concrete of the road with an awful cracking sound. _  
_

The next thing I heard was the crashing of the car into one of the houses along the road. I didn't care.

I can't stop hearing that sound. The sound of him hitting the road. It interrupts me when I'm attempting to sleep. It's always  _there,_ haunting me. It makes me feel sick. I can't do anything about it.

* * *

 

I'm by his side in an instant, as is Lestrade. The Detective Inspector is swearing, shouting curses as he fumbles for his phone. I feel his hand on my shoulder as I look down at John. There are screams but they are not from John. I have no consideration for that.

He isn't unconscious- his eyes are blinking as if he's trying to acknowledge what is happening- but he's not moving. His body is twisted at an angle that I cannot even begin to describe and  _I don't know what I'm supposed to do._ Blood is dripping from his forehead, nose and mouth, trailing down his chin and neck and pooling in a puddle on the ground underneath him. There is a wet patch forming on his jeans and I realise that he has lost control of his bladder.

Immediately I'm ripping my coat off and covering his body with it-  _he can't get cold._ I do it to protect his modesty aswell, although he probably doesn't care for that at this minute. In the background an alarm is ringing out and I can smell burning rubber. A group of people are forming around us but Lestrade is hollering at them, telling them to stay back. I can still hear screaming.

I tell John not to worry, just focus on me, the ambulance will be here soon. All of the things that people say when things like this happen. He's not paying attention to that though. His hands are shaking so much and he can't control them. I reach for them with my own, which are shaking just as much as his are, if not more, and hold him.

_John, darling, look at me. Everything is going to be fine. Don't think about it. Stay conscious._

His eyes are fluttering open and closed and I can tell he is trying his absolute best to do what is being said- it's the only part he's listening to though.

He opens his mouth to say something and more blood dribbles out, painting his lips crimson. I wipe at it with my thumb, ever so gently.  _I can't feel my legs,_ John tells me, his voice barely above a whisper. I nod at him, tell him again not to focus on that, but my stomach feels like it has dropped and a harrowing feel overtakes me.  _Don't say that, John. Don't fucking say that._

***

The ambulance arrives within minutes and a paramedic is politely asking me to step away from John so they can attend to him. I oblige, squeezing John's hand with the smallest amount of pressure, just to let him know that I'm not going anywhere. His eyes stay fixed on mine, like I told him to. Questions are being asked to him and he looks dazed, as if he can't quite focus on the words that are being spoken. I can't blame him.

Lestrade guides me away to sit in the police car and the last thing I can see are the paramedics stabilising John in a neck and back brace. They lift him cautiously, being extremely careful not to jolt him and further his injuries. Out of the corner of my eye I can see another ambulance at the scene where the car slammed into the building.

I cannot seem to stop shaking. I am unsteady as I reach the car and sit in the passenger seat, the seat that John was in not ten minutes beforehand. I ball my fingers into a fist, the skin of my knuckles turning white, but even that doesn't seem to stop my reaction. Shock, my mind supplies. I am going into shock. The DI straps himself into the seat beside me and I turn to face him, noting his reactions.

His face is paler than usual and he gulps, just slightly, but I notice it easily. John may be my partner but he is also Lestrade's friend. This is hard for all of us.

***

We arrive at the hospital in minutes, following the ambulance. Both vehicles have their sirens blaring, alerting drivers that  _this is an emergency._ I am out of the car before it even has a chance to stop but I cannot go over to him. Lestrade is by my side seconds later, his hand pulling on my arm. They need to help him. They can't do that if I'm there.

The paramedics are shouting and my ears hurt.  _Patient is in cardiac arrest,_ they holler and I zone out. No. That's, no, that cannot be right. I am trying to remain calm but it is not working and suddenly I am hyperventilating, panicking and  _I can't breathe. Why can't I breathe?_

My knees give out and Lestrade guides me to the floor, my back pressed against the side of the car. John's heart has stopped and he's bleeding and he's injured and I can't do anything about it. My arm pulls up and I cover my face with my hand, not allowing anyone, not even Lestrade, to see my emotions- especially when they are this unstable. Lestrade has his arm around my shoulders and is imitating a regular breathing pattern, informing me to copy him.

I comply. 

***

Once I have controlled my emotions, we enter the hospital and find ourselves in a waiting room. No one tells us what is happening to John and I start shouting, demanding someone gives me answers. I deduce the nurse at the reception desk, letting her secrets spill but even then, she will not tell me anything. Lestrade gives me a lecture about how people will not cooperate with you if you insult them, but I tell him that it's not an insult, it's a fact.

He refuses to understand.

It is hours later when we are finally informed of what is happening with John. He has had multiple x-rays of his head, neck and spine, aswell as an MRI scan. He has had major surgery to stabilise the spine and to remove fragments of bone. The doctor looks as if she is about to continue speaking when she asks if we are able to speak in a more private setting. I swallow hard, nodding my head as I do so. I have the choice of finding out the diagnosis by myself or with Lestrade.

I want Greg there with me.

We are taken into a room with comfortable sofas lining the walls. I sit down next to Lestrade, who keeps a little distance from me. I can tell that the news is going to be terrible, purely from the expression that the doctor is giving me. 

I want to throw up.

She begins speaking but her voice is quiet. Instead of going straight into the diagnosis, she offers me a glass of water or a cup of tea. I do not want that. I want to know how John is doing.

"We were able to successfully resuscitate John and once he was stabilised we were able to do some scans to see if there was any internal damage." My hands feel clammy and I wipe them on my thighs.  _Get on with it._ "He has a slight concussion and required stitches on his forehead aswell as on his lower lip. Apart from that, he has not received any severe damage to the head and the bruising and swelling should go down within the next few days."

I nod my head again, my mouth and throat too dry to get any words out. The doctor looks at me, a sympathetic smile on her lips. I don't want to know what she will say next, but I need to find out. Lestrade suggests I go outside for a minute to calm down. He would be willing to pass on the information to me. However, I can't do that. I need to know first hand.

"Go on."

"After an MRI scan we discovered some extensive damage to the spinal cord and he was rushed into surgery. Unfortunately, whilst the operation was taking place John went into cardiac arrest again but resuscitation was successful. We'll be keeping a careful eye on him, I assure you." I clench my eyes shut, shaking my head slightly.  _No. For God's sake, no._ "The impact of the car caused the L2-L5 vertebrae to shatter, as well as the S2-S4 vertebrae. Fragments of these bones have torn into the spinal cord, thus severing it. I can assure you that John will be in no pain at the minute as he is on extremely strong and effective painkillers. He is in the best place that he could be."

The doctor stops speaking, allowing me time to accept the information that has just been given to me. I can't think. I hear Lestrade curse under his breath and then his hand is on my shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. My hands start to tremble again, expressing exactly how I'm feeling despite my face showing no emotion whatsoever. 

"Will he-" My voice breaks before I can finish my sentence. I inhale deeply, repeating those words again. "Will he ever regain movement in his legs again?"

"We cannot say for definite but with the extensiveness of the injury, unfortunately it is extremely unlikely that the movement will come back. We can make him as comfortable as possible and there are things that can be put in place to make things as easy as possible for him. When a person receives an injury such as this, it is vital that their independence remains in tact." I breathe in again, not wanting to accept the words that are being spoken to me. John doesn't deserve this, not after everything he's been through.

"I must inform you there is a possibility that aswell as his legs unable to function, there could be other impacts as a result of the injury. Some types of spinal cord damage means that he may not have bladder or bowel control nor any sexual function. It will take time, that is for certain. In any situations like these we have to wait for the swelling to go down before we can rule things out and make the correct diagnosis. However, due to the vertebrae that have been damaged and the nerve areas that have affected, it is quite likely that these functions will be hindered. I am extremely sorry, sir."

The doctor stands up, as does Lestrade, and he shakes her hand. "I will make sure to inform you of any more information when we have it." They step over to the door whilst I remain seated and say something that I am unable to hear. At this point, I am no longer interested in what they have to say. I feel like my walls are collapsing, crumbling down and consuming me.

Lestrade returns and places a hand on my shoulder but I break. I am overcome with emotions. Suddenly I am enveloped and he is gripping me in a tight hug and I am sobbing, uncontrollably. This wasn't supposed to happen. It never should have happened!

We stay like that for minutes, a silence penetrating the air, engulfing us. The only sound is my ragged breath as I try to console myself again, but it's futile.

"Jesus Christ, Sherlock. I'm so sorry." 

Eventually I pull away and stand up, wiping the tears away from my cheeks. I return back to myself.

"Did the doctor say when I can see him?"

"He's in the ICU at the moment. Only one person can go in at a time but yes, you can see him."

Immediately I am out of the door, Lestrade following me, and I make my way to the Intensive Care Unit.

* * *

 

That was such a long day but I remember it so vividly. John wasn't awake when I went to see him. They have him in a medically induced coma to prevent further injury from happening. Just as well really, because I had another episode in the ICU room. I wouldn't have wanted him to see me like that. He looked so fragile amongst all of the wires and machines and tubes and blankets. His face was incredibly swollen and if it hadn't have been for my knowledge of knowing that it was in fact John, I would not have recognised him. I couldn't help the choke that escaped my throat when I saw him.

He whole body was supported so he wouldn't move once he woke up. The thought of him waking and understanding what had happened petrified me.

* * *

 

I return the next day but John is still under. A doctor tells me that they hope to wake him up within the hour and that it is best for him to have a familiar face to see when he does eventually wake. It will be traumatic for him. He is not going to be welcomed by loneliness when he returns, like in Afghanistan. I will be there for him.

He is woken up three hours later. A nurse who I have not seen before removes the tube from his throat to help him breathe as he will be able to do so on his own now. I'm holding his hand when he does eventually wake. They're cold. He can't move his neck to face me as he has a neck brace on. I was told before I visited that it is to prevent any form of spinal movement as they don't want to aggravate the injury further. 

I stand up, still holding him, and plant a kiss to his forehead, careful to avoid the stitches. A lazy smile spreads across his lips as he sees me and a warm, fuzzy feeling grows in me. It's the first time in hours that I feel even the slightest shred of optimism for his recovery. I expect him to ask where he is, what happened, what's wrong with him, but he does not.

He just smiles at me. I get slightly worried but eventually he does talk. His voice is croaky and sore, barely there, but he still manages to speak to me. "Didn't manage to get the tea bags then, did I?" He chuckles but it soon turns into a cough and he grimaces, tears forming in his eyes. I place my head closer to his and caress his hair with my thumb. "It hurts."

"I know," I say. I don't know, not really. No one knows the pain until they're in that situation. "I know." I press my lips to his, a gentle kiss, a reassurance. He will never be alone in this. Never.

He exhales and presses his eyes together, a single tear dripping down his cheek. The swelling has gone down a lot since yesterday. I'm afraid to hurt him further so I am as careful as I can be.

Just then, a doctor comes into his room. She goes by the name of Dr Nina Pace and she has a friendly face. I do not greet her.

I stay standing up so that John can see me. He looks so frightened and I'm scared. So scared because I know that he will have to receive the same news that I did one day prior. I squeeze his hand tightly and he squeezes it back. Dr Pace greets John and tells him that she is going to have a word with me before she says anything further. I already know what she is going to say.

We stand on the other side of the ICU doors. I hate the fact that I am away from John but I know why we doing this. "Mr Holmes," She begins. "As I told you yesterday, John has an extremely severe injury and it may be difficult for this information to be passed on to him without the presence of a loved one being there. Either I can tell him or you can tell him but I would personally advise you to be there with him, whether you relay the information or not." I take no time to contemplate the decision.

No matter how much I like to believe I am a high functioning sociopath, I do not think I can tell him this by myself without becoming emotional. I tell Dr Pace that I would prefer it if she told him.

***

We return to the room and I take my place beside John again. His eyes have fluttered closed and I am reluctant to wake him. "John," I whisper, my voice not quite there. I clear it before repeating his name again. On the fourth time I say his name, he startles awake but the supports prevent him from moving. He starts to panic, his eyes frantic and searching around the room. 

Closing my hand around his again, I swipe my thumb over his palm to calm him down. "John, you're in the hospital." I tell him. He looks at me and I feel like breaking down again. "There, just breathe." I'm just telling him exactly what Lestrade told me yesterday. I feel ridiculous. How is one meant to calm down when they are restrained, without knowing why he is restrained? I stroke his hair again and I want to hit myself for how stupid I'm being. I'm angry at everything.

"Sherlock." His voice is frightened, not the same John Watson.

"I'm here." He seems to relax at that and I continue the repetitive movements over and over again. His breathing even outs, eventually.

"I know something's bad." I am taken aback by how abrupt he is but, then again, John Watson never fails to surprise me. He isn't an idiot, no matter how many times I tell him he is. "Please, Sherlock." I know what he's asking.  _Please tell me what's happened. I need to know. I'm so fucking scared. Please._

I glance at Dr Pace who is standing a small distance away from us. I hold my finger up to her, asking for a moment. She nods her head.

"How much do you remember?" I ask him, careful not to reveal too much until Dr Pace can explain it properly. He will understand it all already, of course. He's probably spoken the exact words to his patients which Dr Pace will say to him. I inwardly cringe at the thought.

"Tea bags. I was going to the shop." His face suddenly comes to a realisation. "The car. I-I remember the car." He snaps his eyes together again. "Then, then t-the road. You put your coat on me. I think Lestrade was there. I don't know."

"Yes, John. Is there anything else?" I shake my head, trying to rid myself of the horrendous images of John laying helpless in the road. "Umm...fuck. Sirens. I remember them. The paramedics. What-um. I couldn't move."

I swallow hard, biting my lip as I do so. I can feel a tear forming but I soon wipe that away with the palm of my hand. John looks at me, his mouth forming a slight 'o' shape. "Don't tell me it's-" His voice cracks and he is unable to finish. 

"John-"

 "I'm paraplegic?" Hearing him say it, without us even having to tell him, kills me. I feel like I'm being devoured from the inside out. It's agonising.

I turn to Dr Pace who seems to understand what I'm trying to say to her. She knows we need our privacy now, despite my request for her to stay and tell him. She tells us that she'll be back in half an hour.

I face John again and his mouth is quivering and his eyes, his eyes that were once full of happiness and charisma, are empty, staring up at the ceiling. He won't look at me. It's hurting. I suddenly realise that I am no longer stroking his hand, but he is stroking mine. Reassuring me.

His voice is tiny when he finds it. "Complete or incomplete?" I want to tell him what he wants to hear, but I can't.

"It is too early to tell, John, although there is a high probability of the former, considering the current situation."

I think this fact hits him the hardest. He might never have his ability to control  simple bodily functions. Things that shouldn't even have any thought put into, that anyone can do. That everyone does. He can't. Might never be able to again.

There is nothing I can say or do that will make this remotely better. Still, John moves his hand. Up and down. Up and down. It's as if he's telling himself that he could have been worse, that he could have been quadriplegic instead. He will always try to see the best in everything. However, he doesn't speak, just stares on and on.

Twenty minutes go by in complete silence and if I wasn't watching his face, observing every single movement that he is still able to do by himself, I would have thought he was asleep.

"Sherlock?" John says my name steadily.

"Yes?" I say his name in the same way.

"You don't have to stay." I think I mishear what he says but when he talks again, I know that he is being genuine. "You don't."

I snap at him. "Shut up."

"I'm being serious, Sherlock. You don't have to stay." I cannot help but flinch when he says the words. He really believes he is going to be a problem to me. "I wouldn't expect anyone to stay."

"John. Listen to me." I peer at his face and immediately realise that he's crying. He's not trying to hide it, like I did. I cup his cheek and press our foreheads together. "I am never going to leave you, John. Please don't even contemplate the thought of me being away from you, especially now, do you understand?"

I wish I can hug him, bundle him up in my arms and tell him that he will recover fully. I wish I can tell him that everything will be okay and that he doesn't have to worry about anything. I wish I can protect him, but I can't, and that is what pains me more than anything.

He is still sobbing so I lean in closer to him, as much as I can in the current situation. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr Pace tells Sherlock that John is booked in for a neurological examination. Sherlock's finding it hard to control his emotions.

Eventually I persuade him to go to sleep again; he is clearly exhausted- physically and mentally. He pleads for me to stay with him. When you see someone who is usually so independent and reliant on himself do that, you realise how serious a situation is. I am reluctant to leave him but I know that it will be best for him if he gets his rest. John does manage to get to sleep after I speak to him, telling him that I will stay for as long as he needs me to. The guilt that overwhelms me when I tell him this is painful- he needs me with him all of the time. I can't be with him all of the time and he knows that. Stupid hospital regulations.

When he finally succumbs I am still holding his hand which is cold. I cup it in between my hands, lifting it gently to my lips so I can touch a tender kiss on his knuckles. Lowering it down, I place his hand back onto the bed, resting it next to his hip. He looks so frail when I stand above him, still supported in a neck and spinal brace. Immediately I shake that thought away. John is not frail- he never has been and he never will be. 

With one last glance towards him, I start making my out of the Intensive Care Unit, my hands clenched in fists. Again, I am suddenly overcome with emotion and I feel ill. I want to scream out at the top of my lungs, holler to people that  _John doesn't fucking deserve this!_ but it would not be helpful at all. John is injured. John is disabled. Nothing will stop that from being the truth.

I turn the corner and almost collide into Dr Pace who is walking quickly, a clipboard held tightly in her hands. She steadies herself and looks up to me. There is a spark in her eyes, despite the tiredness that is evident from the bags underneath them. She clearly enjoys her job, although she does get extremely tired. Immediately her lips take on a sympathetic smile as she says, "Ah, Mr Holmes. I was just coming to talk to you, actually. Would you mind if we go somewhere that is a little more quiet?"

I tense up, my jaw tightening as I look at her. What if they've found out something else that is wrong with him? How could anything else be wrong? My mind goes into overdrive and I am thinking too much, thinking about John, thinking about the situation and I have to remind myself to  _breathe, Sherlock. Breathe._ There is a pressure on my shoulder and  realise that the doctor has placed her hand on it. I glance towards the hand, then back to her and force a smile to my lips. She leads me to one of the private waiting rooms and she gestures a seat for me.

I sit down in the chair that is far too close to the ground for my liking and cross my right leg over my left. My fingers are knotted together and pressed against my knee cap. I lean forward, waiting for her to tell me what she needs to say. "John seems to be doing well-"

I snap immediately. "He's paralysed. I do not think that is doing well." The anger that I have felt at the whole situation is taking over and I cannot think rationally.

"Well," she begins, her tone slightly more cautious, "he is doing as well as he can be under the circumstances-"

"He will never walk again! How can he be doing well when it hasn't even been two days since his whole life has changed?" I am furious at everything. How can this have happened? Why him? Why does he have to go through this?

Dr Pace is sitting silently, listening to my rant. A part of me knows that she doesn't deserve my abuse thrown at her and that what I am doing to her is completely unfair. She is looking after John and helping him and I am extremely grateful for that. But I am not calm and she is the only person I can talk to. My mouth is moving before my brain functions properly.

"Mr Holmes, I know that this can be very difficult for family members to cope with. We have counselling sessions and leaflets that I can provide to you to help you cope-"

"I am coping perfectly well."

"That's your call, sir." I open my eyes that I do not realise have been closed and look at her, suddenly lacking in any motivation to fight back. She is not an idiot. She has dealt with things like this before and even though I try extremely hard to attack my emotions, hide them, it does not always work and my mask slides.

Her lips turn upwards but I can tell that she is pitying me. I am past caring. I take about thirty seconds to compose myself before I start speaking.

"What will happen next?" Dr Pace sits up straighter, pulling her shoulders back and focussing on me. "Tomorrow we have planned for a neurological examination for around 12:30pm. This procedure is always compulsory after a patient has received a spinal cord injury as it tests the extent of the injury and whether or not their responses are fully functioning."

She peers at me, waiting to see if I have any questions for her but I do not. I allow her to continue. "The neurological examiners will test the motor nerves, which includes muscle tone and muscles weakness, as well as sensory nerves and reflexes. Through testing John's reflexes we will be able to determine how his bladder and bowel movement have been affected. Usually this worries patients the most which is why I am telling you this.

During this part of the recovery process patients tend to be very distressed. It is the start of them adjusting to their new situation and it can be very difficult as they do not always know how to cope. I usually advise a family member to be with the patient whilst the procedure is taking place. If you have any questions-"

"I don't." I respond immediately. Standing up, I hold my hand out to Dr Pace, waiting for her to shake it. "Thankyou," I say and I am leaving, pulling out my phone and texting Lestrade.

_Baker Street. Thirty minutes. Please.-SH_

 

* * *

 

Taking a cab back to the flat, I find Lestrade already waiting outside. Upon my arrival he opens the door to the police car and pulls himself out, slamming it shut behind him. "What's wrong? Has something happened? Is John alright?" He is jittery, bouncing around as I walk closer to him. I notice a coffee stain on his shirt, presumably from just after he received the text from me. He has been waiting to hear from me.

Swiftly moving past him I take out my keys and unlock the front door, ignoring the Detective Inspector who is calling my name. He is quick in following me up the stairs, moving two steps at a time in order to keep up with me. By the time he has reached the landing he is out of breath, panting. Once I am inside 221B,  I turn to him, gesturing for him to sit down (although he probably would have taken a seat anyway).

"Sherlock," he begins, still struggling to catch his breath "what the hell is wrong?" I begin pacing the length of the living room whilst he looks at me, eyes wide with concern although he is trying to disguise it (poorly, might I add). In one erratic movement I am at the table, smashing my fist into it repeatedly in an attempt to release all of my inner frustrations. Lestrade is on his feet but I hold my hand out, palm facing him to tell him to stay back.

"Don't," and he listens, retreating backwards so that he can sit down again. One of the beakers that I currently have an experiment in has been knocked over but I have no concern for that, not now. I stop hitting the table and sigh, calming down once again. My emotions are all over the place- one minute I am holding myself together, being strong, and then next the walls that I have so carefully constructed since I was a teeanger are being destructed, tumbling to the ground in a series of terrifying crashes and loud collisions. Closing my eyes, I inhale slowly.  _Control yourself, Sherlock._ And I do.

"John told me I could go." I say, my voice serious as I speak to Lestrade. He glances up at me from his seat on the sofa and runs his hand through his hair.

"Go as in leave the hospital?"

"Don't be an idiot."

"You can't be serious, Sherlock."

"Does it look like I'm joking?" Lestrade is silent as he leans backwards, pressing his palms into his forehead. He looks tired. 

"Jesus. He really said that?" He is not trying to disguise his shock at what I have just told him and then, as if he is afraid of what I might say, he speaks again, voice muttered as he lets the words come out. "You're not going to leave him." It is more of a statement than a question but there is still a hint of uncertainty with his words.

I stop in my tracks and finally stare at him, my eyes boring into his. "Why-" I respond, my teeth clenched together to refrain from shouting at him, "would I leave him?" He seems to realise that I am angry and his posture tenses up- defensive.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't." It is a warning. We remain in silence for around five minutes before Lestrade dares address the situation again.

"Does he know the extent of his injuries?"

"Yes." My voice comes out sharp, quickly. "He does." The man opposite me shakes his head minutely, reflecting on the situation. I have barely spoken to him since he came with me to the hospital on the first day. I don't ask but he starts telling me his thoughts about everything.

"I really can't believe what has happened."

My original intentions of texting Lestrade were so I could inform him of what was happening but I realise that I can't. Speaking to someone who has a personal connection to John makes the whole ordeal seem more of a reality. I am still terrified to accept our new reality. Lestrade doesn't seem to notice my falter and continues. "You never expect anything like this to happen to someone like him. Fuck, I see awful injuries all of the time but I've never known the people involved. Never thought it could happen to someone I have a friendship with." 

"I know." I really do.

"He's your partner, Sherlock." My fists clench together, the knuckles turning white from how tightly I am squeezing my fist. He is my partner and I am his. I will stay with him, no matter how difficult this may be and how much we will need to adjust to our new lives. John will get through this. I will get through this. Together. "Fucking hell this must be so hard for you."

My head slants forward and I stare at my shoes, noting the scuffs on the front of them, the laces that are starting to fray slightly. For once I do not know what to say and I struggle to respond to him.

"Neurological examinations are tomorrow." I eventually grit out, still looking down at the floor. "12:30pm, although with how incompetent the majority of the nurses are over at the hospital it will most likely be at four." A small chuckle is elicited from Lestrade and I manage to relax slightly as I look up at him. Venturing over the living room I collapse into my chair, toeing my shoes off once I am seated. "Motor, sensory and reflex will be tested."

"Is there much hope for improvement?"

I shake my head. "It doesn't look promising."

"So that means..."

"John will probably not have any bladder or bowel control. Nor does it seem likely that he will regain sexual functioning." I allow my eyes to flutter shut for just a second. Why should John have to suffer through something this truly horrendous? Suddenly there is a hand touching my shoulder and when I open my eyes Lestrade is standing above me.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you get any sleep last night?" Moving my head from left to right I give him my answer. Images from the accident kept on interrupting me and on more than one occasion I woke up screaming, holding my hand out for John to hold but realising that he wasn't there.

"Get some sleep. I'm not taking no for an answer. I'll come back tomorrow and take you to the hospital."

I do not have the energy to argue with him so I do not. He pats my shoulder once and leaves without another word.

I do not sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Chapter Two! I hope you've been enjoying it so far. Please lead me some feedback and tell me your thoughts!

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first chapter of 'Paraplegic'. I hope you've enjoyed it! There will be more to come :)


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